Psychoanalyst of the Caribbean
by Aetas
Summary: Dr. Madeleine: Psychologist, Psychiatrist, Pharmacist. Have a problem? We can't fix it. But we can help. The characters of PoTC are called in for some therapy. Will they overcome their problems? Resolve their issues? Conquer their fears? Read to find out
1. In the Waiting Room

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is not mine. I don't own it in any way. So, um... No lawsuits, please.

Author's Note: This lovely idea was previously used by my sister and I in another story (which, sadly, remains unfinished) in which we psychoanalyzed the characters from Phantom of the Opera. So yea, I can take credit, at least partially, for this idea. So there.

And now, let the story begin.

"Dr. Madeleine

Psychologist, Psychiatrist, Pharmacist

Have a problem? We can't fix it.

But we can help.

For a first consultation (relatively free of charge) please call:

1-800-INEEDHELP

Or send us an email at:

drmadeleine(at)icouldn'tthinkofagoodwebsitename.biz

Remember, when you fall down in life, we'll be right there to help you back up.

And to trip you and make you fall again! Hahaha! (Joking)"

- x - x - x -

There was quite a gathering inside the office of Dr. Madeleine. Normally the doctor received little business, but on this blustery winter evening a fairly large crowd had formed inside the waiting room. Where these people could have come from, it was hard to say. To someone who had no taste in movies whatsoever, they were about the dirtiest, meanest, silliest group that could ever exist. However, to us Pirates of the Caribbean-crazed fangirls/boys (Do fanboys even exist? I've always wondered), this was a dream come true. Seated in the waiting room was the cast of Pirates of the Caribbean.

How was this possible? you may ask.

Don't ask questions, I answer.

The room was painfully silent. Not a single word came from anyone, and hardly a sound could be heard. A clock ticked menacingly from its place high on the wall. A phone rang from somewhere inside another room.

"Squawwwk! Thar she blows!"

A parrot screeched.

"Just what I was wonderin', Cotton," a man grumbled angrily. It was Mr. Gibbs, the aging, sideburned drunk who seemed unusually sober.

A few chairs down, a thin, spindly man rubbed his wooden eye and turned to his grumpy-looking friend.

"Wot did 'e say?"

"He said," interrupted our favorite rum-obsessed pirate captain, speaking with a clear tone of annoyance, "he's wondering what we're all doing here."

"Well, that's what I would like to know," growled an angry Will Turner.

"There's probably a good explanation for all of this, I'm sure." Elizabeth was forced to be the rational one. "I mean, there has to be."

"There'd better be." Ex-Commodore Norrington seemed dreadfully unhappy. And not just about having lost his job.

"Oh, there is."

All heads turned to face the new speaker, someone that none of them could recognize. A fairly young woman had entered the room. Looking no more than fifteen years old, she was dressed very nicely in a black skirt and white collared shirt. On her nose rested a pair of glasses giving her a somewhat sophisicated look. Her hair, dirty-blonde in color, was pulled up in a bun, a few thin strands hanging by her cheeks. In her hands was a clipboard, which she held against her chest with one arm while the other hung by her side. She gave the expectant crowd a half-smile, enjoying the confused looks on their faces.

Glancing to her clipboard, she spoke in a very offical, let's-get-down-to-business kind of voice.

"I suppose why you're wondering why I called you all here this evening."

Will nearly exploded. "Did you not just hear our conversation?"

The girl started a bit, her greyish-blue eyes giving the young man a surprised stare. But in an instant her shocked looked turned to anger.

"I've always wanted to be able to say that, so shut your mouth."

Will opened his mouth to argue -

"Shut it!" yelled the girl, pointing at him for dramatic emphasis. Will complied.

"Anyway, let me start by saying that -"

"Ow! Goddammit, Barbossa, could you do something about that bloody monkey!" Jack bellowed as the primate cut short its ripping-out of Jack's hair. The monkey screeched and darted behind the girl's feet.

Barbossa began to reply but was cut short by the girl, now more angry than ever.

"Stop!" she practically shrieked, the monkey clambering up to her shoulder where it chattered and pointed at Jack tauntingly. "Now, if we're through with the interruptions, I -"

"Um, Miss?" An uncomfortable Lord Beckett lifted his hand, preparing to continue with whatever thought he may have had, but was silenced by a bone-chilling death glare from the girl.

"Was there something you wished to say, Mr. Beckett?" she seethed, clutching her clipboard as though prepared to use it as a weapon.

The man shook his head, shrinking back in his chair.

"Now," she went on, now rather flustered, "as I was saying." She paused momentarily, sweeping another room with another frightful stare to prevent any more interruptions. "I believe we can now start our therapy sessions."

"Therapy!" exclaimed a shocked Elizabeth Swann.

"We don't need any bloody therapy!" Captain Sparrow fumed.

"Swab the deck!" screeched Cotton's parrot, also outraged by such an idea.

"Yes," the girl said with a lift of her chin. "Therapy. "Now, I'd like to get started, so if we all could -"

"And who are you," began Lord Beckett sitting up and looking at the girl very snootily, "to decide that we need therapy?"

The girl looked affronted. She blinked once or twice before calmly giving her answer. "I'm Dr. Madeleine, that's who. And when I say you need therapy, you need therapy, COMPRENDE!" Her voice grew gradually louder and louder with each word until she was nearly screaming. "Now, if you would be so kind, Mr. Beckett, as to stop INTERRUPTING ME -" once more her voice grew louder before returning to a more tolerable noise level, "- we can all get through this quickly and painlessly."

Madeleine glanced around the room, pleased to hear only silence save for the monotonous ticking of the clock.

"Now that we're all on the same page, I would like to call in my first victim - Er, I mean... Patient. Yes." She stepped backwards, opening a door in the back of the room and motioning inside. "Mr. Cotton, please step into my office."

Mr. Cotton rose from his chair and started towards the open door.

"Good luck, mate," Mr. Gibbs murmured as Cotton disappeared inside the other room.


	2. The First Two Victims

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. If I did, I promise you I would be disgustingly rich. Which I'm not.

- x - x - x -

"Please," the young doctor said politely, gesturing towards the obligatory psychologist's chair, "do sit down, Mr. Cotton." She herself sank into a big, comfy swivel-chair and she placed her clipboard on her lap.

"Now, Mr. Cotton," she began, reaching towards a nearby desk to grab a pen, "I'm glad to say you seem to be one of the more... _Sane_ crew members on Jack Sparrow's ship."

"Squawwwk! Weigh anchor, you lubbers!"

"Excuse me. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow." Madeleine rolled her eyes, giving a small sigh. This 'captain' obession was rather annoying. "Anyway, there is one issue I believe I must address. Mr. Cotton, it is _not_ _polite_ to stare at women!"

"Squawk! Hoist the mainsail!"

"Mr. Cotton, I understand that you don't mean any harm, but, well... Due to the fact that you can't speak -"

"Squawk! Shiver me timbers!"

"I know that, but not everyone can understand you. When you go around staring at women, they, well... They get the wrong impression. Now I understand that you don't mean anything by it, and I understand what you say, but not everyone does. So just... be careful, alright?"

"Ahoy, matey!"

Madeleine grinned a wide, satisfied grin. "That's the spirit, Mr. Cotton! Now go out there -" Mr. Cotton rose from his seat "- and show those young women you're not a perverted old man!" No! Bad! She wasn't supposed to say that! Sure, it was in her notes, but a good psychiatrist doesn't always let their patient know the truth of their condition. Especially when their condition was being a perverted old guy.

"Squawk, walk the plank!"

"Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Cotton." Madeleine stood up, hastily pushing the man towards the door. "I hope you solve your problems, come again!" And she shoved him out into the waiting room. Cotton gave her an icy stare, his parrot gave another squawk, and he assumed his former place beside Mr. Gibbs.

The room was once again silent for a long moment, no one knowing what to say. Mr. Cotton, obviously, was not able to put his session properly into words, and the rest of the group knew not what to ask.

Madeleine soon reappeared from her office, poking her head out from behind the door.

"Oh, Mr. Beeeeeck-eeeeett!" she called in a taunting sing-song voice, smirking slyly to herself.

The man straightened up in his chair, wide-eyed. "Umm... Yes, Dr. Madeleine?"

Her smirk only widened. "You're next."

Lord Beckett gulped, glancing around the room quickly for some sort of comfort or condolence from his fellow patients. All he received, however, was a snicker from Miss Swann and an unpleasant grin from Captain Sparrow. "Enjoy yourself, mate," the Captain teased as Mr. Beckett crossed the room towards the office. Madeleine opened the door wider, waving for him to come inside and giving a sickly-sweet smile.

"Do have a seat, Mr. Beckett," Madeleine said, closing the door and sitting down in her chair. She was silent for a long time, allowing the man to grow quickly more nervous as the seconds passed.

"Now," she said abruptly, placing her clipboard down on her lap, "what I have to say will shock you. Because I'm sure you're the kind of person who doesn't like taking advice from anyone, am I right?"

Silence.

"Anyway, Mr. Beckett, I'm afraid you have a bit of a superiority complex. Actually, more like a lot of one. So what you should -"

"Me? A superiority complex! Don't be absurd! Why should I believe a girl who isn't a qualified psychiatrist? Or even half my age? This is absolutely ridiculous! Why -"

"MR. BECKETT!" Madeleine roared, once more tightening her grip on her clipboard, prepared to wield it as a weapon should the situation grow violent. "You also have a disgusting habit of interrupting people when they're talking, and, quite frankly, I'm growing rather sick of it! The first step in overcoming your problem is to stop -"

"I don't have to stop doing anything! I don't have a problem! I don't have to listen to you! I -"

Having endured enough of his interrupting, Madeleine took her clipboard in both hands, lifted it up and whacked Mr. Beckett smartly on the head. He gave a muffled groan before falling over on his side in the low couch-like chair that all psychiatrists seem to have in their offices.

Madeleine just sat where she was, shaking her head and sighing. "Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord... What have I gotten myself into?"

- x - x - x -

Author's Note: Chapter two. I put in the thing with Cotton and women because in several parody-type stories poor Mr. Cotton was looked upon as the "perverted old man." Dr. Madeleine may one day help him overcome that! Yay!

Um.. cough

Reviewers get chocolate.

Oh, and um... After this chapter I won't be able to update for a while. I'm going away tomorrow for a week.


	3. Off to Cambridge

**Disclaimer:** PoTC is not mine. Do I really have to keep repeating this?

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I'm really glad people are enjoying this story. Anyway, I have to apologize for my (really, really, really, REALLY) long absence. I'm not really sure why I stopped updating, but I just never got back to writing these stories. So maybe I'll finish this one first, then get back to Aurum some time later, maybe when Christmas vacation starts. Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

- x - x - x -

Lord Cutler Beckett came to at last. He found himself still rather groggy and with a terrible headache. But for the most part, he remained unharmed. Whatever delightful schemes the Dr. Madeleine thought up during his unconsciousness (How would he look with a mustache? If you put a sleeping person's hand in warm water, do they really wet themselves? Just _how_ allergic is he to pollen?), she restrained herself. She would have to make do with the satisfaction of having hit him over the head with a clipboard.

"Ooohh..." Beckett groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. "What hit me?"

"I did," Madeleine stated cheerily. "Well, actually, it was my clipboard that hit you, but same difference."

"You... you... what?" He was confused, to say the least.

"I hit you with my clipboard. You were being extremely rude and just wouldn't shut up, so I -"

"You WHAT?!" Beckett, at this point, had turned a brilliant shade of red and had begun to look more and more like a tomato.

"You see, there you go again, just interrupting me as you please! I should say that -" Madeleine was once again cut short.

"Do you know who I am?!" he thundered, pointing at her a trembling finger. "I am -"

"Indeed I do. You, sir, happen to be a self-centered, egotistical prat who cares for no one and nothing but himself. I tried to tell you this in a much nicer way, but you've given me no choice. I hope you're satisfied." Madeleine had been very patient, but her patience was long gone. Mr. Beckett was going to get what was coming to him. "And in addition to having some superiority issues, I believe you have a disgusting Napoleonic Complex."

Beckett was momentarily stunned. "A- a- a Napole... What?"

"A Napoleonic Complex. It means you're a bit lacking in the height department, so you take out your passive aggressive rage on the world by constantly having to be the best and most -" Madeleine took a breath "- powerful in absolutely everything you do, which is completely ridiculous and absurd and absolutely unnecessary. In other words, get over yourself, Mr. Beckett. The world doesn't revolve around you and you alone, understand? Now, go. Get out of my sight before I hurt you again."

Beckett didn't delay in obeying her orders, and he scurried from the room like a frightened puppy.

Needless to say, Madeleine felt much better after having put the man in his place, although her patience was now running quite low. Whoever came in next, she thought, better be cooperative. Without moving from her seat, Madeleine called out into the waiting room.

"Pintel! Ragetti! Get in here!"

The two men exchanged nervous glances. After having seen the shape Beckett was in, they were beginning to fear for their very lives. But they got up out of the chairs and walked into Madeleine's office. The doctor leaned back in her chair with the clipboard resting in her lap. She gestured towards the small couch.

"Sit," she ordered.

They sat.

"Now." Her voice was stern and definitive. Once more the men looked at each other, greatly intimidated by the young girl. Clearly there was more to her than what meets the eye. "Let's begin. You two... Well, there's really nothing wrong with you." Ragetti and Pintel both let out great, heavy sighs of relief. "But there's one thing I think should be adressed. You two really need to stop being so... _stupid._"

Silence. The men were speechless, dumbstruck, flabberghasted. Did she just call them stupid?

"Look, I know it can be funny and all, but really. You have brains, don't you? Learn to use them sometimes. Tell me, how many times did a mistake of yours get you into trouble?"

More silence.

"Cat got your tongues, huh? Well, let me help you remember. There was that one time where you brought one Miss Elizabeth Swann to the Black Pearl, thinking she was the one who could lift your curse, but was she? Nope. And then when you were acting as a decoy and keeping the British Navy distracted, you got into a fight and stupidly revealed to them that you weren't two young women caught in a longboat in the middle of the ocean, but two dirty, smelly, cursed pirates who turned into skeletons in the moonlight." Madeleine looked at each of them. They still sat there, not moving, not speaking. "Okay, I see you get the idea. Now what are you going to do to fix this problem?"

Pintel spoke first. "... Think?"

So they were catching on! Madeleine was beaming. This session was going better than she'd thought. "Exactly! Excellent. Now that's using your head, Pintel. Good job."

Ragetti too found his voice, and quietly piped up, "Will thinking really help? I mean, we've gotten pretty far without thinking at all."

"But think about how much farther you could get by using your head! I know you can do this, you two. I have faith in you. Now go out there and show the world how smart you really are."

"So..." Pintel said timidly, "we're done?"

"Yep." Madeleine nodded. "All done. See how much you can accomplish when you cooperate? Go on and go teach the rest of them a thing or two."

More eager to escape the treacherous therapist's office than to show the world that they actually had a brain, Pintel and Ragetti hurried from the room without hesitation. Outside, they met the questioning faces of the remaining patients.

"So?" Will asked, sitting up in his chair. "What happened? What did she tell you?" Everyone turned to look at the men, who now smiled at their new-found intelligence.

Using all his cleverness and cunning Ragetti answered, "Well, you'll just 'ave to find out for yourselves. Ain't that right?"

Pintel nodded hastily. "That's right. Good luck, men."

Ragetti gave a brilliant grin. "We're off to Cambridge." And the two of them strolled out of the waiting room, happy as could be.

The entire room was dumbfounded. No one dared speak, hoping that maybe the real Pintel and Ragetti would step out of the room and laugh at how silly they all were to fall for a trick like that. But no one came.

Elizabeth was the first to say anything. "Is anyone else terrified to go in there?" This sent everyone nodding in reply, each face solemn with fear. Madeleine reappeared from her office, looking happy, cheerful and bright.

"Mr. Gibbs?" she practically sang.

The man turned towards her timidly. "Y-yes?"

"Your turn."


	4. A Bit of an Issue

**Disclaimer:** PoTC does not belong to me. (Aha! A rhyme.)

**Author's Note**: Sorry to keep you waiting for this next chapter. I must confess, I got a bit sidetracked (hintGo read my new stories/hint). Anyway. Yeah. Chapter four.

- x - x - x -

Mr. Gibbs rose from his seat, practically trembling. After seeing the state Beckett came out of that office in, and after witnessing Pintel and Ragetti declare they were going to Cambridge (Oh! The horror!), Gibbs was scared - terrified, even - to enter that room. But Madeleine was smiling, and she seemed so young, too. What could harm could she possibly do?

Madeleine closed the door behind Mr. Gibbs once he stepped inside the office, and she motioned for him to sit.

"Have a seat, Mr. Gibbs," she said cheerfully, placing herself gracefully into her own chair. She eyed the frightened Gibbs curiously. "You can relax, you know. Your case is a pretty simple one." She said this while flipping through the papers tacked on her clipboard, and when she came to the right one, she nodded. "Now, let's --"

Madeleine stopped mid-sentence, finding Gibbs muttering something to himself under his breath. It was difficult to make out just what he was saying, but she was able to catch a few words. 'Deliverance' and 'salvation' where among them.

"Um. Mr. Gibbs?" No luck. He just kept on talking to himself. "Mr. Gibbs?" Still, he didn't answer. She was starting to think he'd been posessed or something of that nature. "Mr. Gibbs!!" That brought him back, and he nearly leapt out of his seat with surprise. "Now, if you're _paying attention,_" she paused for effect, then went on, "we can get this over with quickly and painlessly."

"Painlessly..." Mr. Gibbs repeated, and he seemed to relax a bit. Madeleine ignored him.

"Well. First I want to address your drinking problem."

"... Drinking problem?"

"Yes. Drinking problem. It seems you have one. Have you ever thought what all that alcohol is doing to your liver?"

Gibbs didn't quite understand. "My... liver?"

"It's _destroying_ your liver, Mr. Gibbs. It's as simple as that. Plus, if you drink too much at once you can die. Do you understand that, Mr. Gibbs? Die? It's when your body stops working and you're not alive anymore. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Silence.

"Hm." Madeleine was pleased that Mr. Gibbs was cooperating after all, but she wasn't sure this analysis was getting anywhere. Just as she was preparing to continue, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" she asked angrily, unappreciative of the interruption.

It was Norrington. "Um, Doctor?"

"Yes?" Her tone was venomous, as she was still waiting for him to explain himself.

"We're, um, having a bit of an _issue_ out here."

Just then violent shouts erupted from outside the office. Both Madeleine and Mr. Gibbs jumped up at the same time, Madeleine rushing to stop whatever was happening and Gibbs seizing this chance to escape. Outside in the waiting room, Will and Jack had their swords pointed at each other, shouting, while Elizabeth stood off to the side shouting back.

"I can't believe you did that, Elizabeth! And right in front of everyone!" Will yelled, fuming with anger.

"It was so _we_ could get away, you idiot!" Elizabeth yelled back at him, clenching her fists.

Jack grinned half-heartedly. "Well, to be honest, I didn't mind it much at all."

Will gripped his sword, clearly prepared to use it should he be provoked further. "First you almost had me killed my blood-thirsty cannibals," he seethed, glaring at Jack, "then you trick me onto Davy Jones's ship, and then you think you can take Elizabeth away from me?"

"Well, techically -" Jack began to explain himself, but Will wouldn't hear it.

"Oh, shut up," Will hissed. "You make me sick."

"Oh, you _both_ make me sick!" Elizabeth shrieked. "I don't know what I ever saw in either of you. I would have been so much better off if I'd just gone and married Norrington in the first place!"

At this, Norrington looked pleased, but Madeleine didn't want to hear any more of this.

"Stop it! All of you!" the doctor shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. She took a breath and returned her hands to her sides. "Just calm down, and let's settle this quietly."

"I don't want to settle this quietly!" bellowed Will.

"Shut up, Will! You always have to go and make things complicated, don't you!" Elizabeth screamed at her fiance (Ex-fiance? Who could tell. She changed boyfriends every three days, it seemed), but stood her ground. Will was holding a sword, after all.

"Yes, can't we settle this quietly?" Jack asked meekly, appearing to shrink backwards.

"Enough!!" This time it was Madeleine who was yelling, and she brandished her clipboard in the air as if it were a weapon. She had no sword or pistol, but office supplies could be just as deadly. Beckett could attest to that. "Be quiet, all of you! Just shut your mouths and keep them shut!!"

And they did.

"Now," Madeleine went on, more calmly, as she lowered her clipboard, "Jack, if you would kindly sit down. Will, Elizabeth, come with me."

Elizabeth made a face of disgust. "Both of us?"

"Yes," Madeleine replied with forced control, "both of you."

"Why both of us?" Will demanded. Madeleine didn't like the tone in his voice, but at least he wasn't holding his sword anymore. Besides, she still had her clipboard.

Madeleine answered Will as calmly as possible. "Why? Because I think you two are in desperate need of some marriage counseling."


End file.
